


Embraced

by Foxglove_Fiction



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Blood Magic, But what is death in a fic about vampires anyway, Dark, Don't copy to another site, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partial Mind Control, Self-Hatred, Stephen Strange Dies, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Wong is a Good Bro (Marvel), learning to cope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21731539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxglove_Fiction/pseuds/Foxglove_Fiction
Summary: “Humans have a tendency of misunderstanding and misrepresenting the preternatural, so what you may have heard of us is a convoluted mess of myth and dramatization. Yes, many of us fall deeply into instinct becoming more monster than man, embracing their loss of humanity. Others walk the line. There’s no way to be what youwereagain, but that doesn’t mean your humanity is fully forfeited. It’s up to you to decide what you want to be.”
Relationships: Karl Mordo/Stephen Strange, Stephen Strange & Wong (Marvel), Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 60
Kudos: 114





	1. Prelude to Night

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I've been writing vampire fiction for nearly two decades. This was bound to happen eventually. While this will have some fluff, sweetness, romance, and maybe a little smut, a lot of this fic is going to be an exploration of vampirism, what it means to be a vampire and a lot of the personal horrors of it. Tony is the beauty and the light in this fic, but it'll be a little bit until we encounter him - a couple of chapters at least.
> 
> I originally posted this particular intro on Tumblr a little while ago, but now that I've got a bit more written I figured I'd toss it up here. This isn't going to be updating on any particular schedule, so don't anticipate anything specific, especially since I'm starting this over the holiday season (like an absolute fool!).
> 
> Man, this whole intro sounds pretty dire, huh? I hope we have _some_ fun during this anyway, but I figured the heads up for anyone who was expecting something different would be appreciated. 🥰

Most people don’t know what it means to be unmade. Most people hadn’t descended the way he had. 

At first it had been little steps, one at a time. A staircase into darkness. He didn’t know what had happened at first it was such a small thing. So simple. 

He mistook it for falling in love at first sight. They caught each other’s eyes across a room and there was a magnetism that drove him to approach the other man. It wasn’t as though he normally would have _avoided_ everyone at the party, but his mind and heart pulled him to the other in a way he hadn’t felt before - he didn’t simply _want_ to speak with the other, he’d _needed_ to.

They spent the night talking. The man knew who he was, that was no surprise at a function like this. It was a gathering of medical professionals and he wasn’t precisely unknown or an unusual person to see at these kinds of gatherings, and the stranger was more than happy to engage him on a great number of subjects from experimental procedures to the intricacies of navigating med school.

While the other showed no interest in drinking, he’d _definitely_ shown an interest in the Doctor’s advancements - not in a way that seemed amused or condescending, but also not in an overeager way. He was refined, almost _too_ elegant about things as he offered a hand to the Doctor to lead him elsewhere. Tipsy and utterly enamoured as he was, he’d followed.

It was a memory he’d never forget, a _beautiful_ memory. He was lost in a sea of sensation, disconnected from his own body, unfamiliar with what he was experiencing. The other wasn’t _gentle_ with him, he bit and clawed at him, encouraging reciprocation and the moment the man’s blood touched his tongue he’d felt stronger - empowered.

_Different_.

From that night he’d been trapped.

The Baron had been prepared for him, _looking_ for him quite specifically. He’d had his reasons and despite the Doctor’s oaths they began to slip. There were more _pressing_ things than simply saving lives. The Baron had needs and it was the Doctor’s _pleasure_ to fill those needs. It was a _compulsion_.

At first, it was as simple as letting him siphon off his blood - a little at a time, they were both well enough aware of the limitations of his body, despite the changes he’d gone through. The Baron would show up once a week in the evenings wherever the Doctor was, and more often than not the Doctor made himself available at home for it. 

He’d found it much more pleasant to feed the man at home where he could disappear into the bliss of sex even though it often left the Doctor to fall asleep and awaken again alone, mostly healed up and otherwise patched up. Well enough to work.

Eventually, the Baron came more often but it wasn’t for blood. Not _his_ anyway. The Doctor began to sneak bags of blood from the hospital at the Baron’s wish. One or two here and there, nothing dramatic but enough to sate the man at first - enough to earn him a smile, praise, signs of pleasure. There was a pride that swelled in the Doctor each time, like a well-trained dog.

In hindsight that was all he was. A dog.

His master’s blood in his system wasn’t enough when he went over the edge. It healed the superficial wounds - enough so that the paramedics at first were confused by his state - but without being able to see the Baron, to taste his power, there was no saving him. And his master didn’t come.

There was only so much that could be done. During the time he spent in hospital there was no sign of the Baron, and his hands resembled something more like claws than hands by the time he was released. They’d been clear - his scans had been clear - he’d never be able to perform surgery again.

They trembled such that he could barely lift a glass of water at first and then they trembled for his fury at that knowledge, and the desperation to see his master again. He spent weeks alone, angry, frustrated and lost without guidance. The rare occasion someone arrived, he felt his heart surge in anticipation before dropping back into its misery as he sent visitors away, content to disappear into his solitude as he awaited his master.

It was two months before the man appeared, green robes and skin that seemed almost a part of the night, brown eyes piercing through him in the dark. But the broken man could feel it, a surge of hope for only the briefest of moments. 

The Baron didn’t smile as he approached the place the broken man slumped with his hands cradled against him in shame. A strong hand ran into his hair, grasping firmly to tilt his head back watching him sternly a moment before tsking quietly into the night. The broken man allowed his head to be adjusted to the man’s pleasure, intent on proving he was still of use - he still had something to give, even if his title no longer granted him the access he’d had before. 

He still bled and the Baron knew it.

“Please help,” the broken man had whispered as his head was rolled to one side, baring his throat and the Baron simply hummed in thought.

“I cannot fix your hands, Stephen,” his voice was calm and quiet even as he knelt beside the broken man, his other hand gentle on the broken man’s scruffy face, “not like this.”

“I can still be useful,” he insisted, sounding desperate to his own ears, and the hand on his face moved to silence him.

“Not as you are. Perhaps if you become _more_.” The brush of lips along his neck left him to shiver, relaxing entirely into the man’s hold.

The Baron’s bite was not gentle. It was fierce in a way the broken man had never felt before, the fangs tore into his neck painfully but he didn’t protest, emitting a small whimper as he slumped against his master. The other showed no restraint - he didn’t pull back, holding him firmly in place when he started to struggle slightly, his head growing light and the cold he’d felt in his hands beginning to creep through the rest of his body.

He opened his mouth as realization hit: the Baron wasn’t going to stop. He was taking much more from him than he’d taken before and he felt his heart begin to hammer heavily in his chest.

“You’re-!” The hand on his face grasped at him more firmly, covering his mouth and silencing his verbal panic. 

The Baron was _killing_ him. He was going to _die._ Even as he attempted to struggle he was held more firmly, the glass behind him cracking in testament to the strength with which he was being restrained, his jaw echoing the sound when he tried to struggle further.

His vision grew steadily more bleary as the Baron dug more firmly into his neck, a feeling that was once accompanied by pleasure becoming absolute torment. A little at a time he was dying and the harder his heart beat in his chest the closer he raced to his death. The broken man could barely keep himself upright, not that it mattered for the strength that pinned him in place.

Eventually, his eyelids were too heavy to stay open and the hand released his face, fangs and the warmth of the other man’s mouth leaving him. 

At first, he thought he’d be left alone just like that, his body twitching and shuddering by no strength of his own - and then warmth came. A drop on his lips and then his head was tilted back and the warmth filled his mouth. A hand massaged his throat, encouraging the liquid down his throat. 

He didn’t know how long, how much, but eventually the warmth was brushed over the gashes in his neck and the other pulled away again, leaving the broken man to slump into a heap on the floor. He was dying… he was really dying. The liquid - his master’s blood - wasn’t going to do anything to replenish the blood he’d lost. There was no means by which his stomach would divert the blood to his veins - to his failing heart.

“Whether you survive or not is up to _you_.” He vaguely heard the Baron speak, his voice growing quieter as he walked away. “Find me if you wake up.”

And he was alone.

His heartbeat had slowed, his body was heavy and his head was light all at once. Tears burned down his cheeks as consciousness came and went, and any joy he’d felt at the knowledge that he’d improbably survived his car crash felt wasted. He would die now instead.

_He’d been abandoned and left to die alone._


	2. Awakening

“Stephen Strange, this is not where you belong.”

He didn’t know where he belonged; he felt wrong, his body was wrong - foreign to him - and he didn’t know how to cope. His head said to go to the hospital. To get  _ help _ . He’d lost blood, so much blood, and his jaw still ached where it had been broken. It had taken him hours to drag himself from his home when he finally came around, but he couldn’t be certain how long he’d been unconscious to begin with. 

He’d awoken wearing a strange mask. It had left him in a panic at first - he couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, his face was tightly encased in a very solid, unfamiliar substance that took him the better part of ten minutes to get off. Of course, in that time it had been made clear that  _ breathing _ was no longer a necessity - which was an absurd thought. The mask had been less unnerving than that knowledge that he didn’t need to breathe and yet it was still wholly uncomfortable to stare down at his own face recreated in some unknown plaster-like substance with such detail was just another impossibly disconcerting element to his awakening.

Since leaving his home he’d been faced with another realization: he couldn’t feel his heartbeat. What he  _ could _ feel was the way the hunger grew, the way the air seemed to change around people he passed - warm, pulses that he could  _ smell _ . 

He’d collapsed in an alleyway outside the hospital when the stranger had approached him, and he could barely bring himself to look up at first before realizing the man hadn’t caused the same sense of pressing hunger.

“I’m injured,” Stephen said by way of explanation, though he hissed in pain and rested his head back against the brick wall behind him to look at the unknown Asian man. The stranger continued to watch him, shaking his head with a disapproving look.

“If you go to the hospital you’ll hurt someone. Is that what you want?” he asked calmly, before reaching down to help the former doctor to his feet. “Come. I can help you.”

There was something soothing about the man’s presence though it was hard to determine at first what it was. He introduced himself as Wong.  _ Just _ Wong. No flourish, no title, no surname (or given name. Maybe Wong  _ was _ his surname it was hard to say - the man wasn’t clarifying) simply ‘Wong’ and despite himself Stephen felt an unusual  _ trust _ in this man.

It wasn’t the same thing he’d felt for Baron Mordo - and  _ felt _ was an accurate way to describe it, as the obsession he’d mistaken for love had faded dramatically. Not gone, but barely a sliver of a shadow of what it had been. The trust he felt was almost a warmth that washed over him and as the man herded him into an old brownstone building.

Stephen didn’t feel like he  _ had _ to follow the man, but there wasn’t a sense that Wong was a threat either. He found himself perfectly capable of questioning the other’s motivations, hesitating as he entered the building and was guided towards a chair that seemed particularly ostentatious but turned out to be incredibly quite comfortable. 

The shorter man exited the room for a moment before returning with an ornate glass nearly filled to the point of overflowing with a substance that enkindled his senses.

_ Blood _ .

“What…?” Stephen began to question even as the glass was pressed into his hands.

“Drink. You’ll feel better.  _ Then _ we can talk.” And drink he did. The glass was emptied swiftly despite Stephen’s uncertainty; his instincts seemed perfectly aware of the need.

There followed a reverberating crack followed by sharp pain, and as his aggravated nerves settled down it became fairly clear that the sound was his jaw setting and beginning to heal.

His body felt steadily less fatigued and a spot that had been aching at the back of his head throbbed a little before easing away into nothing. He’d thought it was blood, but blood couldn’t do what this had done… right?

He opened his mouth as the man came to sit across from him, though the wave of the other’s hand left him quiet. “You have questions, I’m sure. Before you ask them, let me see if I can’t answer some of the ones every childe asks.”

Stephen wasn’t particularly fond of the notion of being referred to as a  _ child _ , but he remained silent as Wong began his explanation.

“I’d congratulate you on your rebirth, but I somehow doubt you’re going to find much to celebrate about what’s coming. You are no longer human, Strange. We’ll discuss appropriate terminology at a later point, but for the time being it seems best to offer a comparison you’re familiar with. 

“Humans would call us  _ vampires _ .” The way he said the word indicated the contempt he felt for it, and the way his face bunched up like it left a sour taste in his mouth only further emphasized that. Clear enough indication that ‘ _ vampire’ _ was not a term he approved of.

“Humans have a tendency of misunderstanding and misrepresenting the preternatural, so what you may have heard of us is a convoluted mess of myth and dramatization. Yes, many of us fall deeply into instinct becoming more monster than man, embracing their loss of humanity. Others walk the line. There’s no way to return to what you were  _ before _ , but that doesn’t mean your humanity is fully forfeited. It’s up to you to decide the path you’ll walk.”

The questions bubbled around in Stephen’s head, but he kept dutifully quiet as he awaited further clarification from the man.

“As you may have noticed, you drink blood. You’ll crave it. While you won’t die without it, your self-control will deteriorate without it. Your body needs it to heal, needs it for energy and to help regulate your systems in overall,” Wong continued to explain. “Human sources are still the most effective as many disciplines - innate skills that vary by bloodline - work best on humans, outside of a few families. Blood bags are things you’ll soon find are acceptable, but not preferential. They will leave you feeling unsatisfied…”

“So if we aren’t called vampires, what are we called? And what are these disciplines?” Stephen frowned a bit further as the man paused in his explanations, and Wong gave a slight smile.

“I’ll spend some time teaching you, but I’m not your babysitter, Strange. You’ll eventually need to take on the responsibilities of learning on your own.”

And teach he did.

The first week was arduous - Stephen fought desperately to learn, and Wong provided him with warmed blood in a wine glass, which helped to give the impression that he wasn’t drinking blood. But it was blood, nevertheless, and it was disquieting to recognize how much he needed it.

The studying was simple enough - he was a studious individual to begin with, his sharp memory allowing him to absorb a great amount of information in such a short time. It allowed him and Wong to narrow down his bloodline easily enough as he explained the disciplines his master had used on him. He learned about what he’d been prior to his death, something that Wong called a ‘ghoul’ despite that it didn’t align with Stephen’s understanding of what a ghoul was.

“Simply a human who has been made addicted to our blood. It doesn’t take much and a human doesn’t need to be willing to be made a ghoul. Ghouls can be useful tools in keeping us safe in the daylight among any number of other things. It sounds like your master chose you quite specifically to access the hospital’s blood…” Wong reasoned, and the reality of how thoroughly he was used and how utterly incapable of stopping it he’d been left Stephen in quite a state.

The first week, for all the stresses and changes it brought, was nothing to what came after.

“You’ll need to learn to feed eventually,” Wong explained one night, his expression almost remorseful though it struck Stephen hard. “It should be simple enough, your bloodline makes you better equipped than most of our kind to lure in prey without causing them harm.”

“By manipulating them,” Stephen responded bitterly, recognizing easily enough that what Wong meant was precisely the way he’d been used.

“The bliss and happiness you experienced while being fed on is proof of your lineage in its own way,” Wong continued, shaking his head. “There are others who experience only the most profound fear and agony while being fed on, those among us whose bodies are contorted and made horrific with their deaths. Humans know them to be anything but human when they see them which makes feeding extremely challenging, and makes monsters of many of them. Bitterness and isolation over the centuries can take a toll easily enough.”

“So I should be grateful, is what you’re telling me?”

“Embrace the gifts that you do have,” his mentor advised. “It will take you time to learn how to use some of your gifts, but others will come to you so naturally that you may not even realize that you’re using them. I can’t imagine you’ll have much trouble luring someone in.”

Luring in prey, sure enough, was no trouble. All the things he’d done while he was human seemed so much more effective - especially eye contact, apparently. The young woman he first fed from was easy enough to lure in and feed, and between his knowledge as a former doctor and his newly elevated senses, it wasn’t hard to recognize when he needed to stop.

He hated it. He hated hearing the way her blood rushed, the way her heart began to beat erratically, the way she moaned with pleasure when he knew how easily he could kill her. Most of all, he hated the thrill that rushed through him, how strong he felt after, how much he loved the taste.

He tried a couple more times, but the feeling of it made him hate himself, hate everything he’d become. So he went longer and longer without feeding. Wong had stopped providing him with cups of blood once he’d been taught to feed and had made it clear that Stephen needed to learn to fend for himself. When things went wrong he should have expected it.

He should have known.

He sat in the bathroom scrubbing at his face desperately, but there was nothing that would wash away the recognition of what he’d done. He’d lost control. He’d drained someone dry, felt their heart slow, sputter and stop, and their body go limp in his arms. He’d felt a primal thrill in him when it happened, but when his senses returned to him all he could do was run.

Stephen couldn’t be certain whether it had even been a man or a woman. He hadn’t been in control of himself when he’d done it. He’d been as much a pawn of his blood as his victim had - it was unacceptable.

“Where’s the body?” Stephen looked up sharply at the voice, staring widely at Wong in fear and horror.

“I… don’t know.”

“For the love of… Strange, I need you to think about this carefully. We can’t just leave a body drained of blood lying around to be found - the humans will become afraid, they’ll search. If we are ever discovered…” the words fell on deaf ears, and Wong sighed, crouching in front of him.

“This is why you  _ must _ feed regularly. If you want to avoid killing… if you want to spare their lives… you must feed at least once every three nights. But more regularly will be better. I need you to try and settle down and think about where you were. I will take care of the body this time… but be more careful in the future.”

“I… killed someone,” he responded weakly, looking briefly at his reflection in the mirror and hating the beautiful glow of his skin. “I killed someone… I swore I’d never…”

“Focus, Strange. Focus and try to remember. I must take care of this quickly.”

“I don’t want to remember!” he responded sharply, turning to stare at Wong once again. “I never wanted this! This wasn’t… how things were supposed to be…! I didn’t want to hurt anyone! I didn’t want anyone to die!”

“... Strange, things will be much worse if you don’t settle down and tell me where the body is. You need to focus. Anything you can tell me… anything you can think of. Signs. Lights. Streets. Anything…”

Stephen focused on Wong for a long moment, trying to think through his fear and trauma. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want the memories. He didn’t want to remember anything and yet as he watched Wong it felt as though it was being pulled to the forefront of his mind.

Bright lights. Signs. The hazy words written on a sign. A man with dark hair and bright eyes. A dark alleyway and the steadily weakening beating of a heart under his fingers.

“I see… clean up, Strange. I’ll deal with this mess. We’ll talk about this more when you’re calm,” Wong stated, making his way out of the room.

Stephen slowly stripped out of his bloodsoaked clothing and spent the rest of the morning hoping that hot water would be enough to somehow rinse the memories from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biiiig thank you to the ever amazing [Bravehardt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bravehardt/pseuds/Bravehardt) for betaing this chapter for me because I wrote a lot of it while half-asleep last night and it definitely needed help.


	3. Control

“What did you do to my head?” Stephen asked quietly the next evening. 

Wong sat quietly reading a book, glancing over the top of it with a raised eyebrow. “Whatever do you mean?”

“My head. Last night you pulled… images…  _ memories _ from my head…” Stephen frowned down at the book in his lap. 

He was supposed to be studying the various threats to the Embraced as a punishment for his mistake the night before - as though he wasn’t already punishing himself plenty without Wong’s help. It was hard to focus on much of anything with the way his mind kept circling back around to the man he’d killed the night before. 

He couldn’t bring himself to ask Wong what he’d done with the body and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get the memory out of his head. It wasn’t the first time in his life that he’d wished his memory wasn’t so accurate, but it was prominent now, the first time in decades that he felt responsible for a lost life. 

It was different this time around.

His negligence may have cost his sister’s life, but he hadn’t actively killed her. They’d never found her body. His head had spiralled around the knowledge that if he’d been more attentive she might still be alive, chasing her dreams… and in the day, as he dreamed, his mind had conflated that event with his murder of a man whose name he’d never know.

There was no sugarcoating it, he’d murdered that man. 

In his dreams, the person whose heartbeat continued to slip away was his little sister. He didn’t want to dream, but there was nothing he’d done so far that kept his body awake beyond the sunrise.

“I told you, different bloodlines have different skills,” Wong responded, “I figured you would have sorted that out easily enough on your own. You have a certain set of skills, my own are… different.”

“You dug through my head?” Stephen gave him a sharp look, his brows furrowing deeply. “Without my permission?”

“We were on a timeline, Strange. I didn’t have time to calm you down and make sense of things. You weren’t listening and I needed to take care of things quickly or we were going to be in trouble.”

“You dug through my head,” Stephen reiterate, frowning more deeply.

Sure, he was panicking and Wong did what he had to do, but the knowledge that the man was so easily predisposed to doing something like that and didn’t seem to feel bad about it didn’t sit well with him. How many other memories had Wong tapped into? Was that how the man had figured out his name?

“You weren’t exactly being forthcoming with the information I required,” Wong sighed.

“I was in shock - I’m still in shock! Is this just… a thing you do? Pry through peoples’ minds without their permission?”

“It’s not quite so easy as you make it sound,” his mentor frowned a little, getting to his feet and making his way to the bookshelves to gather up a couple of books. When he returned, he plucked the book from Stephen’s lap and replaced it with another.

“This isn’t exactly a comprehensive list of bloodlines and their documented skills, but it has enough information for now at least.”

“This doesn’t change the fact that you dug into my mind, Wong.”

“Are you expecting me to apologize?” the man responded as he returned to his seat, sitting down and gathering up his own book once more. “Because I’m not going to. I did what was necessary. Did you ask permission to drink from the people you drank from? Did you ask their permission to lure them in? You are not human any longer, remember? You have other laws you need to be abiding by. You’re clinging to certain human ideologies that don’t apply to you the same way anymore.”

“You’re the one who told me to choose the path I wanted to walk - you’re the one who told me that it was up to me to maintain my humanity,” Stephen began, and Wong sighed, shaking his head.

“I also told you that you are  _ not _ human anymore. You need to come to terms with that eventually. If you cling too much to your morals all you’ll do is suffer. And you cannot hold other embraced to your standards either. We all walk our own paths and asking us not to use our innate skills for self-defence and self-preservation isn’t going to go the way you think it will.”

Stephen frowned further but dropped his gaze to the leatherbound book in his lap. 

Wong seemed determined to wave his own ‘misdeeds’ as he returned to his own reading, and Stephen simply ran his fingers over the worn cover for a few moments before looking up at the man across from him once more.

“Have you killed before, Wong?” he asked after a long moment of silence and the other man set his book down once more, sighing.

“Every embraced has killed at one point or another. You’re not the first among us to have thought they could avoid feeding and be alright. It’s… a rite of passage in its own way. You have to hit the bottom to be able to determine what the bar looks like for you and how comfortable you are. For some people, the first kill breaks them - if they already killed one person, why not more? - for others, the reaction is much more like yours.

“For me…” Wong shook his head a little bit and leaned back in his seat, “the first man I killed was… not a pleasant man. I spent a good deal of time trying to justify in my head that he deserved to die, that it was fine. I tried very hard to rationalize it. In the end, I realized that it wasn’t for me to decide who lived and who died, but it still sits with me. I remember every life I’ve taken.”

“So you’ve killed more than once?”

“You make it sound so simple, but it isn’t simple in the slightest. I was sloppy when I was young. I slipped too often, and people became suspicious. People found me out… there weren’t many options. ‘Them or us’ was a valid fear for a long time before we developed rules to protect ourselves. Not everyone adheres to them, but as humans have become more scientific and ‘rational’, they’ve begun to discount the idea that we exist. That is in part because of our ability to keep ourselves in control,” Wong explained.

“There were other things too. Accidents among them. A woman I loved dearly, for instance… we… wanted to stay together. She figured she could put up with me forever, but no one had told me that the act of embracing a human was more complicated than simply draining her and feeding her my blood. No one told me that there was a higher chance that she would die than that she would become one of us. I never meant for her to die.”

“How many…?”

“Twenty-three,” his mentor responded simply. “Twenty-three men and women over three thousand years.”

Stephen sat up a little straighter at that, staring at the man in surprise. 

Wong simply smirked in response. “Yes, this condition is eternal, barring a few lesser-known things. The sun won’t kill you. Lack of blood won’t kill you.”

“What will?”

“Perhaps I’ll teach you one day, but you’re not in any state to be learning that kind of thing right now,” Wong shook his head. “For now, read. Learn.”

Looking at the book in his lap, Stephen sighed a bit and finally flipped the cover open to begin reading.

Over the following two days he learned in detail what Wong had done to him and some of the known limits of such abilities. Wong was capable of delving much deeper into the mind of a human than another embraced - “human minds are not so naturally defended as ours are,” Wong explained - but Stephen’s mind was weakened by his panic. It had been a matter of getting Stephen to think about the subject before he could pull the memories forward and scan them.

Of course, he was able to clarify Wong’s bloodline by recognizing that ability - though it didn’t entirely clarify his lineage.

“These things change?” Stephen asked softly.

“Our blood carries various skills, but some humans have innate skills of their own that they bring into the mix, skills that they pass on to their childer along with other powers of their bloodline. We’re more easily recognized by bloodlines, clans of embraced essentially, which is usually named after the person believed to have been the first of our line.

“Often enough these progenitors come from a variety of backgrounds around the world, though the UK and North America have become distinct melding grounds,” Wong clarified. “Where once it was that most embraced in continental Asia were from the same bloodline, things became more complicated when the silk road was established and people began to move around the world more and more. Our bloodlines began to spread, it became less simple to tell different bloodlines apart simply by looking at an embraced.”

“Ideas spread and with them people and embraced…” Stephen summarized quietly to himself as he looked at the book thoughtfully. “But if what you’ve said is true, then there’s no way for a book to ever list the abilities of every embraced. Individuals bring their own skills to the bloodline and eventually pass them on…”

“Through those skills, childer can be traced back through their sires all the way back to their progenitor through the blood. The skills are passed along like a genetic memory carried in the blood. That can also be true of the weaknesses of particular bloodlines.”

“... so when you said that sunlight wouldn’t kill me…?”

“I mean you’re not genetically predisposed to such a weakness.”

“You seem to know a lot about my bloodline,” Stephen stated as he looked up at Wong again, pensive.

“I’ve studied our kind for centuries, Strange. You’re not the only one of your kind I’ve met.”

“... what  _ am _ I then? The only skills I’m aware of are listed several times under various lineages-”

“No, they’re not. You’re just not reading carefully enough. There are unique intricacies of each skill you’ve been exposed to. They may seem similar, but they are not the same, and you’ve experienced and exhibited more than one skill of your own… we’ll make that your homework this week, shall we? Figure out what you are, figure out your bloodline and learn your history.”

With that, Wong snapped his book closed and got to his feet, offering Stephen the barest of smiles. “We’ll discuss it more when you figure it out. I’ll direct you to the books you need when you’re ready. But there’s only so much you can learn here. Go out. Experiment. Learn.”

It was two nights before Stephen felt like he could leave the building with any comfort - but he knew he needed to feed. He didn’t want to make the same mistakes or risk any more lives.

He needed to learn control, he knew that. For Wong’s safety at the very least. The man had been tolerating a lot of things to help him get his bearings in this new world he was exposed to and he didn’t deserve the additional stress. The best thing Stephen could do for him right now was to learn to be self-sufficient, and that meant getting a hold of himself and learning his limits.

Feeding was a good opportunity to test the skills that were available to him. He’d already established how easily eye contact allowed him to compel others to approach him. He knew enough to make sure puncture wounds were sealed with the smallest amount of blood, which left his companions without any marks whatsoever before Stephen had even left them.

When he read of the many and varied disciplines of the bloodlines, however, he knew it would take time and energy to determine what his skills were precisely, and he’d need someone to test them on without potentially killing them.

That was when his training with Wong truly began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you again to [Bravehardt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bravehardt/pseuds/Bravehardt) for betaing this chapter for me. Without you, this would be so much more of a jumble.


	4. Bloodlines

“Why do I never see anyone around here?” Stephen asked one evening as he spent some time reading through the books. “This place always seems to be empty…”

“I’ve been keeping others away while you’re learning,” Wong responded over his own book.

The duo sat in front of the fireplace keeping warm as they read. It was late in the evening, and over the past month, Stephen had realized more and more that sleep was pleasant but not necessary. 

The Sanctum, their home, remained well protected from the sun and worked effectively enough to keep the lethargic feeling the sun afflicted them with, away.

He knew well enough about seasonal affective disorder and the effects that less sunlight had on the human body and mind, but it seemed that it was nearly the opposite for the embraced. Darkness and absence of sunlight helped him feel more awake, where the sunnier days caused him to feel slow and lethargic. 

Not that he’d been out in the sunlight as of late.

“Do you expect that I’m some sort of danger to the others?” Stephen inquired, glancing over at Wong with a brow quirked.

“I believe the others may be a danger or poor influence to you,” Wong looked up with an enigmatic smile. “You’re too young to be resistant to many of the abilities of others, and that may leave you in a state not unlike you were before you were embraced.”

“You can still use those kinds of skills against other embraced?”

“Not usually as effectively, but it depends on how skilled you are in your talents,” Wong explained with a slight shrug. “If you would like to meet others, though, I can think of a couple of other embraced whose company might benefit you.”

That was how Stephen’s ‘playdate’ was organized.

The first man that Stephen met with was an interesting man, though there was something about him that left the ex-surgeon anxious. 

He hadn’t met many people who were taller than he was, but the black-haired embraced stood just a bit taller than him and his posture left Stephen feeling belittled or inferior in some inexplicable sense.

“... is this why you’ve been absent, Wong?” the man inquired, looking him over as though he was beneath him or undeserving of his time, an object being assessed.

“This is Stephen Strange, a childe who hasn’t been reunited with his sire yet,” Wong clarified easily, and the raven-haired man twisted a strand of hair around his finger briefly as he gave Stephen another once over.

“That explains a lot. You’re a bleeding heart sometimes,” the man sighed heavily. It took Stephen a little bit to realize why Wong had chosen to introduce him to this man of all people first.

The haughty attitude and the tendency to look down on others… the man really didn’t view him as an entity yet. He wasn’t certain that the man - Loki, Stephen gathered his name was, based on the conversation he and Wong had - viewed anyone as a person until they’d proven themselves valuable. He was one of the Lords, Stephen was fairly certain. 

If Loki had pressed him to take some action, Stephen was certain there would be little he would have done to object, such was the persuasiveness of the man’s aura. The Lords were said to be among those who quietly pulled the strings of the world, and even without using their innate talents there was a certain regality to them that was said to make men bend a knee without ever wondering why.

Loki never commanded him to do anything, but the man’s presence alone had Stephen ready to jump up and fetch him whatever he needed at the drop of a hat. 

The two retired to speak in private without lingering too long, and Stephen couldn’t help but feel relieved when that overwhelmingly domineering presence had left the room. He sunk into a seat to take a few deep breaths - a habit he still found calming despite being unnecessary.

He had nearly an hour to recover from that introduction before another embraced let himself into the building, standing eye to eye with him and offering a friendly smile.

“Hey… you must be Stephen?” he inquired, looking around the entry for Wong, he assumed, before offering a hand. “I’m Steve. I thought Wong would be here for this, he’s always so protective of childe.”

“He’s attending to Loki,” Stephen explained quietly, taking the other’s hand and finding himself surprised by the strength of the other man’s grip, wincing a little at the pain. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine!” the blonde’s smile didn’t fail at first, though the moment he noticed Stephen’s wince he loosened his grip and looked at the surgeon’s scarred digits rather attentively. 

“Oh! My apologies, I didn’t realize… I forget my strength sometimes.”

There was a certain gentleness to his aura, unlike Loki’s. He released Stephen’s hand soon enough and gestured to the seats in the sitting room before taking a seat up himself. 

His demeanour was fairly laid back, cheerful and bright, like sunshine embodied in a creature of the night. It was almost exhausting how energetic he was, though his gut warned him that there was more to the blonde than he was letting on.

Their conversation was light and didn’t prod into anything beyond superficial pleasantries. He got the feeling that Steve wasn’t as forthcoming as he pretended to be and it took him almost an hour of conversation to realize what it was that he’d been missing. 

The man’s strength, the way he sat and held himself…

“Military?”

The blonde’s expression was that of surprise before schooling itself into something that was clearly a mask of friendliness. 

“Lifetimes ago,” he nodded, and Stephen felt the uneasiness creeping up in him again. He got the impression the other didn’t want to discuss it and he wasn’t certain that talking about it would be good for his health. “You?”

“Former doctor,” Stephen offered in hopes of easing the tension that had made it’s home in the room. “Wong found me on my way to the hospital I used to work at…”

“Lucky for the hospital,” Steve responded casually as his blue eyes flicked up at the sound of a door clicking. “Ah, Wong. Your timing is excellent.”

Steve rose to his feet as he looked over the man towering at Wong’s side. Loki had a smirk plastered on his face as he looked the blonde over.

“Oh, hello Rogers, what a surprise.” The man didn’t sound surprised at all. “Were you busy making nice? I’d be careful with him if I were you, Strange. Things seem to mysteriously happen to this one’s friends…”

“Loki.” Steve growled in response. “Is now really the time?”

“Best that he’s warned before he endangers himself, don’t you think?”

“You were leaving, Loki?” Wong prompted, putting himself between the duo as Stephen found his unease growing. There was a distinct hostility between the two even as the taller man shrugged gracefully.

“It’s been a pleasure, Wong. Do keep the childe safe, hm? The dancer could prove useful.” With a dismissive wave Loki made his way out of the building without another word, and Steve seethed at his back as he left.

“Rogers, calm yourself.”

“Why am I even here, Wong?”

“Because Stephen could use some help learning about his bloodline. He can only learn so much by going out and hunting, and I couldn’t think of a more competent fighter to help him explore his skills,” Wong explained.

The aura around the man eased off as he glanced back at Wong for a moment, before looking at Stephen. “... well, that won’t do much good now. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he offered tentatively, extending his hand to Stephen as though the doctor was a timid animal.

“It’s fine,” he responded quickly enough, but it wasn’t. 

He could feel the tension in his body, as though he was ready to spring into action - as though he was prepared to flee.

“If it’s something he wants, perhaps another night when that wears off,” Steve commented to Wong, dismissing Stephen’s words as though perfectly aware that they were a lie. And maybe he was.

It was after they’d said their goodbyes and Steve had left the Sanctum that Wong looked to Stephen. “Well?”

“... well what? Did I do something wrong?” Confusion washed over him at Wong’s vague inquiry, and the man smirked.

“Have you figured them out?”

“Figured them out? What are you talking about?”

“Their bloodlines,” Wong prompted, and Stephen relaxed back into his seat.

“Ah. Loki is one of the Lords isn’t he?”

“Correct. A rather shining example of them, to be honest,” Wong sighed a bit. “He’s a good ally to have, however. And Rogers?”

“It’s hard to say. He didn’t have any clear tells that I noticed until I asked if he was military… and once Loki aggravated him there was just… that overwhelming aura. There was something… really ferocious about it, dangerous, even…”

“You’re picking up on many of the hints. Perhaps while you two train together you’ll figure it out more easily. There are two more people I’d like to introduce you to, but not until the effects of Rogers’ little tantrum wear off. Neither are available tonight anyway, but I expect that you’ll get along well enough with Wanda. The other… you’ll have to earn, I imagine. She’ll visit you when she deems you ready.”

“Is it necessary to be so cryptic? Can’t you just tell me?”

“It’s necessary for you to  _ learn _ ,” Wong smirked. “Which is why you’ll be training with Rogers soon. Loki knows what you are while having only spoken with you for at most half an hour. He figured it out easily. I imagine Rogers has sorted it out as well. Now you need to ascertain your bloodline for yourself, it’s shameful to think you’re the only one who hasn’t figured out what you are.”

“Do you really have to put it like that?” Stephen sighed heavily, running a hand into his hair. “Do I have an aura like they do? And what about you? Why don’t you have an aura?”

“I do. My aura is simply concealed,” the other embraced shrugged. “I do not see the need to flaunt it. Rogers kept his concealed until he was provoked as well, so you can thank Loki for that. Loki, like most Lords, does not conceal his aura. He enjoys the power it gives him without having to do anything. He enjoys the deference of the untrained.”

“Like me?”

“Like you.”

“Do you plan to teach me how to resist those kinds of things?” Stephen inquired as he settled into a seat and pulled a blanket around his shoulders.

“Eventually you will learn to do so on your own. I expect your training with Rogers will aid you in that anyway. He’s a very good teacher where physical training is involved. I’m afraid much of my skill in teaching is considerably more scholarly. I hope through the combination of teaching methods you’ll manage to learn more about yourself.”

Stephen found that he too hoped it would work out. He already felt displaced, disconnected, and not himself. 

He had a new life - unlife perhaps - to get used to. Things were new and different and he had a lot to learn about being embraced. He couldn’t help but hope that knowing what he was and the history and capabilities of his bloodline would make him feel more at home - like he had a place in the world and what that place was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, [Bravehardt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bravehardt/pseuds/Bravehardt) is a blessing for betaing this chapter.
> 
> We're getting close to Tony's introduction, phew! I'm so excited! This chapter ended up being a little different than planned so there'll still be one more chapter before we see him. But we're darn close indeed!
> 
> Thank you for reading! 🥰


	5. Cinaedi

“Punch me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean it, punch me. Or try, at the very least,” Steve chuckled standing about two armlengths in front of him, with Stephen staring incredulously at him. “Wong told you this would be physical training, didn’t he?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You couldn’t if you tried,” the blonde assured him, tilting his head and smiling all the more. “Now, come on. Give it your best shot.”

The doctor hesitated for a long time, running a hand into his hair as he watched the man and shook his head. “I feel like you’re misunderstanding me. I took a vow to do no harm-”

“You drink blood now, so there are absolutely limits to your ability to uphold that.”

“I don’t drink  _ your _ blood! I have no reason to-”

A fist connected with his stomach and Stephen was cut off as he wheezed out in pain, folding over forward and finding himself braced against the man’s broad, muscular chest. He couldn’t quite bring himself to ask what that was for or even really gather his thoughts. Pain blossomed in his abdomen and the man patted him firmly on the shoulder.

“I’m not going to hold back, Strange. I’m well aware of why Wong asked me to train you, I’m not about to let him down and that’s going to mean pushing past what you consider comfortable.”

Stephen groaned a bit into Steve’s shoulder and the other chuckled softly. “I am sorry about this, though. It’s not going to be fun and games. Think of it as self-defence training or something along those lines if that makes it easier.”

“I dislike you right at this moment,” Stephen grumbled as he managed to support himself properly again, and frowned all the more at Steve’s easy smile.

“Hopefully that’ll be a temporary thing, but I’d say you learning is more important than you liking me.”

“Are you going to be as cryptic a teacher as Wong is?” the doctor inquired as he shook off the pain.

“I’m not going to tell you what you are if that’s what you’re asking. It’s important to learn those things on your own.”

“And you do know that you’re asking the man with broken hands to punch you, right?”

“You’re making a lot of excuses. Do you think an attacker is going to care about your hands being broken?”

When Steve struck again, Stephen surprised himself with how quickly he reacted. His arm came up in retaliation and the punch was deflected off of his forearm. It hurt like hell, but the other man grinned in response, seeming pleased.

“Good, you’ve inherited some combative instincts. Those will serve you well.” Steve’s approval didn’t leave him any time to respond, however, as the man went on the attack again, leaving Stephen’s body to react instinctively.

The punches were one thing, but the moment the man dropped to the ground and swept out his leg, Stephen found himself flat on the ground with an attractive and overly muscular man straddling him. He swallowed a bit hard at that thought and wondered at himself for having it. 

He’d just been attacked, it wasn’t exactly the time for him to be feeling aroused by his assailant restraining him and managing to pin his arms both in one hand.

The blonde man gave him a strange look briefly and for half a second Stephen wasn’t sure if he’d gotten even more aroused than expected. 

Still, he found himself hoping the other would do something about it.

When chapped lips touched his own an excited thrill ran through him. He was confused, sure, he hadn’t expected the other to indulge in his thoughts, but it was a perfect moment as he sighed his contentment. Steve pulled away soon enough and Stephen received a look he didn’t know how to interpret.

“You could’ve asked, you know. You didn’t have to cheat.”

“... pardon?”

“Oh you have no idea what you did, do you?”

The two men stared at one another for a minute before Steve sat up and shook his head, running a hand into blonde locks with a heavy sigh.

“... you don’t have to stop, you know.”

“You’re very funny. Figure out what you did.”

“ _ You _ kissed  _ me, _ I didn’t do anything.”

“Try again.”

Stephen took a long moment, staring at the blonde and adjusting in his spot to sit properly as Steve backed away. It was a good minute and a half before it clicked.

“Did… did I charm you?”

“I don’t think ‘charm’ is the technical name for it, but yes. That’s essentially what you did.”

“I thought that only worked on humans,” Stephen admitted, shifting awkwardly.

“That depends on one’s skill or natural affinity. It also depends on the potency of your bloodline.”

“By potency you mean…?”

“It means how diluted your bloodline is. The purer your blood connection to your bloodline’s progenitor the stronger certain abilities tend to be. Those who have more diluted bloodlines can have an array of skills, but they’re less potent. It may mean that some humans are immune. 

“There are purists who believe that bloodlines being purer is of some importance, but you’ll notice that amidst the Lords most of all,” Steve explained, shaking his head. “Which is especially funny as they tend to be the ones most likely to have diluted bloodlines because it seems to be a of point of pride among them to embrace others.”

Before Stephen had the opportunity to respond, Steve had kicked at his hip in an effort to get him up onto his feet again. “Now come on. Punch me.”

“Why? It’s so much easier to… you know.”

“Seduce me?” Steve inquired with an impish smile before shaking his head. “We already know that’s a skill of yours. I want you to learn what else you can do. I want you to be able to identify what you are. Don’t you want that?”

Stephen sighed a bit as he dragged himself to his feet, looking at Steve with a bit of disdain. “You sound like a friendlier Wong when you talk like that.”

Despite this, Stephen prepared himself mentally and physically for hitting Steve.

“Swing and a miss,” Steve teased as he moved to one side, sidestepping the punch Stephen had thrown his way with ease. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

“You’re a jerk, you know that?”

“Talk with your fists,” Steve suggested with a soft chuckle, dodging a couple more punches before a punch struck him suddenly. Steve stared at him for a good moment, rubbing at his jaw as his expression morphed into a smirk. “Well done.”

Stephen stared for a long moment as he felt his body come down from a strange high. He felt different. He’d moved faster than he thought he could at that moment and it felt as though Steve had slowed as he’d lashed out. His body still felt as though it was moving too fast.

He stared at his hands, the ache in his digits from striking Steve beginning to creep past his shock. His arms began to ache following that, and soon enough he ached all the way to his elbows, leaving him to back away and sit down to hug them against his torso.

“What… happened?”

“You accelerated your body in order to keep up with me,” Steve shrugged. “As expected. That should definitely help you with narrowing down your bloodline. How are your hands?”

“They hurt. A lot,” Stephen admitted with a grumble and Steve tsked softly, shaking his head.

“Alright. Let’s get them wrapped up with something warm, shall we? Get you a freshly heated cup of blood to nurse?”

“Do you have to put it like that?” the younger embraced frowned a bit as Steve shrugged and started to lead him towards the door.

“Would you like me to call it ‘mulled wine’ to protect your sensibilities?”

“And now you’re patronizing me?”

“You’re going to have to get used to it sooner or later,” Steve held the door for him as he led Stephen towards the kitchen and pulled out a seat for him.

“I’d rather not,” Stephen sighed heavily as Steve began to heat up a beanbag in the microwave, then poked his head into the fridge.

“Do you have a blood type preference?”

“You’re making this hard on purpose, aren’t you?” Stephen frowned. “... just… whatever there’s lots of is fine.”

“Still not used to it, huh?” Steve gave him a sympathetic look as he poured out the cold blood, grabbing the beanbag from the microwave and replacing it with the mug.

“It’s a hard thing to get used to,” Stephen admitted quietly, shifting uncomfortably in his spot but laying out his hands on the table and allowing Steve to gently lay out the heated beanbag over them.

“You’re right, it is. I guess I had an easier time of it because I was used to battle and blood, to begin with. I mean, I suppose as a doctor you were used to blood as well.”

“I’m used to making sure blood stays  _ in _ people. I wasn’t a phlebotomist and even as a surgeon, many efforts were made to keep that blood within the people. Using the blood of the living for the sake of maintaining my health is just… not what I ever expected my life to become.”

“I know you aren’t going to like to hear this but… you’ll get used to it,” Steve responded softly, pulling the cup of blood out of the microwave as it beeped. “You’ll learn the best ways to reheat blood - not like this, for the record - and the way to make this the most comfortable for you. It will take time, but the sooner it happens the easier life is going to be for you and your mind.”

* * *

“Cinaedi.”

His bloodline, according to his reading with the new information he had, was known as the Dancers in the Dark, the progeny of a woman who was referred to as Cinaedus. As a collective, they were officially known as Cinaedi.

“Indeed, that does seem the most likely, doesn’t it?” Wong responded as he looked up from his book. “In order to know for sure, you’re going to have to take the time to attempt some of the various skills attributed to Cinaedi.”

“I’m not sure how to test that kind of thing, you know. Some of the skills in question aren’t exactly… clear about how to use them. I mean, blood animation makes it sound like some kind of ritual culty thing…” Stephen hummed over his book, frowning slightly at the book.

“As far as I know it’s much more simple than it sounds, at least to those who are capable,” Wong clarified. “I can show you some options for animation?”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Isn’t it always a good idea to know what you’re capable of in a controlled environment?” his mentor asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I suppose that makes sense,” Stephen sighed a little, running a hand into his hair and setting his book aside with a bookmark in it.

Wong stood and led Stephen deeper into the Sanctum once more, unlocking a door and stepping aside to allow Stephen into the room before following after him and turning on the lights.

The room looked like something out of a museum, full of various artifacts and talismans, some in cases, others on open display. Stephen took a long moment circling the room, looking at various intricately detailed pieces of jewelry, lovingly embroidered clothing, and even a couple of weapons he couldn’t rightly name.

“What is all this?”

“Artifacts that should take to blood animation well enough. Many of them have been made exclusively for that purpose by talented artisans, some of whom are long dead. Find something that suits you.”

“How am I supposed to know what suits me? I mean, we’re talking about giving life of some sort to a formerly inanimate object… I assume that this is a little like having a pet or a child… this is something you should think about, right? A new life you’re responsible for in some way…”

“I suppose that’s accurate in a manner of speaking. Take all the time you need… you know how to do the ritual far better than I do, so I’ll leave you to your own devices,” Wong said. With that, he turned and left the room, and Stephen slumped into a seat in the middle of the room, looking around in bewilderment.

It felt like a huge decision to make. Maybe not like having a child, but at least like having a pet.

Forever. 

He tugged at a piece of fabric on the back of the chair and wrapped it around his shoulders for comfort as he shuddered a little at the chill in the room before his fingers absently traced over the varied textures of the blanket.

His gaze dropped down to it and he found himself admiring the beautiful bits of patchwork. He caught sight of a little gold thing out of the corner of his eye as it caught the light before frowning slightly and standing to get a better look at what he’d thought was a blanket.

It turned out to be some sort of cape or cloak of some kind, with two matching gold pieces on the lapels that he imagined were meant to fasten to whatever was beneath. He couldn’t see any reason he’d ever need a cloak in New York but bundling up in something as heavy and warm as this could be extremely comforting.

“What do you think?” he asked of the cloak, draping it over his shoulders thoughtfully. “We look pretty vampire-y together, huh? I don’t like the idea of having to bleed on you, but… at least you’re already red, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the big ol' delay! Combat scenes are the end of me, I swear. I've also realized while writing this chapter that I made a mistake in doing a lot of world-building and mistaking a lot of that for plot. There _is_ a plot, don't get me wrong, it's just a lot more barebones than I meant it to be. This is what I get for not writing an outline _before_ starting to write the story itself. With that said, hopefully the following chapters will come a little faster but given my lack of outline I'm bound to get caught up on details here and there.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. 💖


	6. Territory

Stephen had never been much of a clubbing sort of person, but Wong had insisted there were people he needed to meet. To his great surprise, Wong had covered himself up and helped Stephen dress entirely too warmly for the weather, pointedly pulling up Stephen’s hat before they set out - in the late afternoon, with the sun still up.

The newly embraced childe was still stuck in his human mentality surrounding vampires and sunlight, so watching Wong step outside with ease and certainty left him conflicted.

“So… basically, if the sun doesn’t touch me I’ll be fine?” he inquired, finally following after Wong, tugging anxiously at the black leather gloves covering his injured hands.

“You’ll be fine either way. Dancers do not have too many issues with the sun aside from it causing some pointed lethargy and exhaustion. You may also experience some light burning, but nothing that won’t heal up easily enough - I have potions for those that can mitigate the time it takes to heal,” Wong responded without hesitation, apparently expecting the questions.

“Are you going to clarify what’s going on? Where are we going?”

“I suppose you could crudely call it a blood den. More accurately it’s a space that’s run by our kind and caters to our kind.”

“That… sounds foreboding, to be honest with you. Why are you telling me of this now?”

“You’ve learned some control, and know what you are. Now you have a place in our society. You’re no longer some fledgling embraced, and it’s time to take your place with everyone else.”

It was a short enough trip, made mostly in silence. They walked the whole time, and Stephen tried to ignore the strange looks they were given. It wasn’t as though he blamed the onlookers - they were essentially wearing hooded trenchcoats like villains out of some stupid movie, and Stephen was perfectly aware of how out of placed they looked.

On the other hand, he was still left confused by the fact that Wong had very explicitly told him to dress to seduce. It was strange to hear that word from Wong’s mouth. He felt rather ridiculous after having Wong pick at his outfit a little. He felt like he was going to be presented for some kind of acknowledgement - or for sale. It was hard to say.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t wear most of what he was wearing usually - it was a suit after all, less a blazer. He was familiar with wearing nice suits. But Wong had taken time over the day to make sure that his suit fit him more snugly than it had before, and the red silk shirt under his vest was a new touch. In hindsight, it seemed likely that the red would at least disguise any blood he might spill… which was fair. He was still a little sloppy with his eating habits.

He nearly ran into Wong’s back when the shorter man stopped, nudging a door open and looking at Stephen pointedly. The younger embraced barely caught the name “Cruorem” on the sign before he was unceremoniously shoved through the door.

“Lady Maximoff?” Wong called down the hall, giving a little nod to the white-haired man who stood watch just inside the door. The man gave a flippant shrug in return.

“I dunno where she is. Ask the bartender.”

“Bartender? Pietro, are you planning to ever recognize him as family?”

“He’s not family,” the bouncer responded tersely, rolling his eyes. “He’s not one of us. In any case, she’s around somewhere, I’m sure. He’ll know where she is.”

Wong shook his head as he made his way past the man, waving for Stephen to follow. “The owner of this establishment is Lady Wanda Maximoff. Don’t let her appearance fool you, she’s nearly as old as I am.”

“This is a club,” Stephen stated lowly as he looked around at the combination of bright and dark reds for the seating around what was clearly the main dance floor with hardwood floors.

Immediately opposite the doors was a beautiful black marble bar with shelves lined with bottles and lights, and a DJ’s station tucked to one side with a ‘requests open’ sign hanging from the front. No one was there yet aside from the slender blond man behind the counter.

“Viz, good afternoon,” Wong greeted and the man looked up with a warm smile.

“Master Wong, good afternoon. It’s been a while since we saw you last, to what do we owe the honour?” Judging by the way his blue eyes shifted over towards Stephen, he had his ideas of why already.

“His sire is absentee, so I’ve been showing him the ropes. I brought him here to vouch for him as I believe your establishment and its many amenities will prove useful to him.”

“Good evening,” Stephen greeted as he became the point of focus. 

“Let me take your coat and I’ll find Wanda to do her interview, shall I?” the man, Viz, came around and offered his hands to Stephen as the doctor slipped out of the elaborate coat. He didn’t remove his gloves, but there was a certain pleasure that budded in him when the man gave him a clearly approving once over. He didn’t take Wong’s coat, he simply slipped towards a door where he ran his wrist over a panel and a door slid open to allow him to disappear into the back.

“What is all this?” Stephen asked as he looked around once more, checking out the various booths around the outside of the room that were clearly organized to be able to be curtained off, and the ‘VIP’ door that the bartender had disappeared behind.

“I told you before, a blood den. Viz and Wanda will go over the rules of the establishment, as they do change every so often and I may not be entirely up to snuff on the ins and outs of things. But if things go well regarding your interview with Wanda, you’ll have access to the private VIP rooms in the back that will allow you to feed in this space so long as you are careful. That’s why I waited for you to gain some control before I brought you here.”

“Don’t give away all my secrets, Master Wong,” a woman laughed brightly as she stepped through the back door with Viz just behind her. “Who’s your friend?”

“Stephen, ma’am. Doctor Stephen Strange.”

“Oh,  _ Doctor _ Strange, is it?” the woman hummed as she gave him a once over. “How refined. How is that going for you given your condition?”

Stephen was silent at that, his eyes flicking towards his hands instinctively, and she followed his gaze for a moment before looking back up at him. “I see. There are other complications. That’s fine, we all have our preferred titles. If you prefer Doctor, I’m not going to be the one to rain on your parade. Why don’t you come have a seat with me, handsome? We’ll see if you’ll fit in as one of our VIPs.”

She invited him over to one of the tables along the side and drew a curtain to block them off from the rest of the club. At his look of curiosity, she shrugged. “We’re opening soon, and I don’t want anyone interrupting us. You can call me Wanda, by the way, if you go about calling me Lady Maximoff here, people will give you strange looks.

“Now then, Doctor, I assume you’re currently sharing a hunting territory with Master Wong. With that said, be aware that this area is not considered a hunting territory. As a coven, we’ve mostly agreed that this area and a two-block radius around it are not to be claimed, period. This club is a unique exemption specifically for those who do not have their own territories. A place for young embraced to safely feed. Sadly the methods used in this club specifically are only available to a certain set of bloodlines. There are certain nightmares we can’t very well host. So what I want to know is what bloodline are you?”

“Cinaedi,” Stephen responded succinctly, and she tilted her head for a moment, her eyes almost taking on a red sheen for a moment.

“Ah, a Dancer. That explains why Master Wong brought you here at least. And how important to you is your Hippocratic oath?”

“Extremely. I’ve… I’ve killed once. I thought I could go without-”

“I understand,” she soothed. “We all have our… moments of weakness. But you should know that there is to be no killing on these premises. Ideally, you seduce, you bite, you heal the wound, everyone leaves on their own two feet fully satiated.”

A few voices piped up beyond their curtain, as someone arrived and greeted the bartender, and a couple of others joined him. His eyes flicked to the curtain and she smiled.

“The DJ and a couple of dancers - of the professional sort. Don’t mind them or whomever else. I need your attention as we go through this.”

“I understand,” Stephen turned his attention to her. “I don’t want anyone to come to any harm, and if I could go without feeding entirely… I would prefer it. But that’s not an option, as I’ve learned.”

“Good. Additionally, ghouls and thralls are entirely off-limits. I assume Wong has taught you about those?”

“I’m not certain the difference…?”

“A ghoul has some semblance of freedom. They know who they are, they know they are bound, and in this day and age many are by choice. Viz, my husband, is among them. When he discovered what I was, he chose to stay with me regardless. Rather than risking the possibility of his dying in the process of being embraced, we agreed that he would make an excellent ghoul. A thrall… well, they’re rather more like playthings. The Lords have a particular love of them, though many other clans will enthrall others out of necessity or pettiness as well.

“The point is that they are spoken for by other embraced. They are off-limits.”

“I see. That… is understandable then. Those are the rules. I respect them.”

“Fantastic. Do you have any questions before we make it official?”

“What kind of music do you play here?” he inquired with a slightly teasing smile.

“Whatever we want. Lately, there’s been a lot of grunge rock, because I guess Quill and his girlfriend are ‘off again’ and it ‘speaks to his soul’ or something. But he takes requests and is pretty good about variety otherwise. He’ll get into moods, though.

“Ah, of course it’s important that you know the only ones here you can trust to speak to about matters surrounding our existence are Pietro - the bouncer - Viz and myself,” she produced a bracelet from somewhere under the table and offered it to him. “People who are wearing these are like us. They’re VIPs with permission to use the backrooms for more intimate engagements such as feeding. If you want a quick fuck back there, no one’s going to stop you either, of course. That doesn’t mean you should approach them, necessarily. Wrist, please.”

Stephen hesitated for a few moments before offering his gloved hand and allowing her to put the bracelet around his wrist. “Don’t lose this or give it away to anyone or you will permanently lose access to this club. It could endanger us and there is zero-tolerance for that.

“Now then, why don’t you go ask Viz for a bloody mary?”

“I was never a fan of… oh. Are you serious?”

“Oh yes. We’re well known for the excellent quality of our bloody maries,” Wanda smirked at him from across the table. “Then make yourself comfortable. The night is young. Your coat is in a room in the back assigned to you already.”

“Thank you, Wanda.”

There was something about the song that began to play as he made his way to the bar. He didn’t know it and thus assumed it was something more modern, but the chorus struck him as he sat at the bar to order a drink.

_ “Welcome to the devil’s playground, you can look and you can touch, it’s a real fine day at the black parade, I swear it won’t cost much.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always a huge shoutout to [Bravehardt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bravehardt/pseuds/Bravehardt) for betaing this chapter for me, it definitely makes the process so much easier. Betaing your own works never quite goes as well.
> 
> The song at the end is "Devil's Playground" by the Rigs.
> 
> _Tony next chapter, I promise!!_ We needed to get to this point before I could introduce him. But finally, _finally_ he joins the fray.


	7. Bite

Cruorem became something of a second home for Stephen. 

For the most part, he enjoyed the music. Grunge reminded him of his youth and was a pointed reminder that he wasn’t ageing anymore - it was done. His life was a standstill now. Time would continue on perpetually adjacent to him, and he was never going to be a part of it again.

Luckily, the DJ changed his tune quite literally about five days later. It didn’t stop his feeling of existential dread, but it at least gave him more of an opportunity to drag himself out of his mind. Fresh songs helped with that. Voices he recognized singing songs he didn’t, voices he didn’t know at all.

Now and then he was enticed to dance and he did his best to mask the pain of his hands anytime someone wanted something more elaborate than a grind session - he preferred the more engaged dances, despite this.

The formula Wanda had organized had been working out well. He knew, in passing, that others like him were around. He saw them disappear into the back often enough, but he also felt them deeply. He was hunting when he was here and his senses were distinctly turned away from others like him. At the same time, he was discovering that there were some humans he was equally repulsed by the scent of.

It was a Saturday not long after he’d begun attending Cruorem that he felt something he hadn’t before. 

He’d arrived later than others and wound up taking up a seat at the bar with the seating areas he usually preferred being occupied already. He had just ordered another drink when someone slipped into the seat beside him.

The man was clearly not intoxicated, but rather than carrying the potent stench of spirits, he smelled of metal and oil.

As Stephen reached to accept his bloody mary from Viz, the man tilted his head a little and regarded him with a smile.

“Oh come on now, I’m almost certain that you’re new here… how did you get one of those fancy VIP bracelets, hm?” he inquired, glancing from Stephen’s wrist up to his face.

“What makes you think I’m new here?” Stephen responded, sipping at his drink lightly, though the blood in the drink was considerably less tantalizing than the way the brunette’s blood seemed to call to him.

“I know everyone that comes here,” the other man sniffed a little, simply smiling at Viz when the man brought him a drink without asking. “Don’t I, Viz?”

“Of course, Mister Stark. It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

“Then why does the new guy get a bracelet and I don’t?”

Viz looked at Stephen for a moment, then gave a slightly helpless shrug. “I just work here, Mister Stark. My wife lives by her own whims.”

_ Stark. _

He was certain he knew that name. 

It took him a moment to place it, but as he did his mind put a lot together for him. The man did look familiar, it was the lighting of the club that had thrown him off, and the suit he wore was certainly expensive. 

Tony Stark, of Stark Industries, was well known for being a genius engineer, and he recalled years ago having doubted whether the man did any of the work himself. The lingering scent of a workshop told him that Stark did, in fact, do his own work… which put into question some of the other preconceptions he’d had about the man.

“Seriously, I’m starting to think it’s a cult. It’s a cult, isn’t it?” Stark turned inquisitive brown eyes on Stephen and the embraced smiled in response.

“Maybe it is.”

“Oh, come on. If this is some Illuminati bullshit-”

“I would assume if it was then someone as well-known and influential as yourself would be part of it.”

“That’s exactly what I’m getting at!” the man huffed in response, before sipping at his drink. “I am not used to not being a part of the VIP club.”

“Then what brings you here often enough to be a regular?” Stephen asked.

“Maybe I enjoy not being automatically assigned to my general standing in life. Is this what it feels like to be a normal person? A… plebeian?”

Stephen snorted a little at that, trying to hide his laughter behind a hand when he nearly choked his drink up and out his nose. 

Stark seemed immensely pleased with himself.

“Are you asking if this is what it’s like to be normal, or to be a commoner? I think those may be different things,” Stephen responded as he coughed a little and recollected himself.

“A little of both?”

“You really were brought up with a silver spoon in your mouth, weren’t you?”

“I assure you, my spoon was platinum.”

“Ah, of course, how foolish of me,” the embraced smirked slightly, drawing in another sip of his drink. “I suppose with a net worth of 12.4 billion dollars that makes sense…”

“Oh, honey, that was  _ so _ 2019,” Stark sighed long sufferingly. “Next you’ll suggest that Stark Industries only makes about twenty billion dollars a year!”

“You’re a braggart.”

“You’re still interested,” the engineer gave him a sly smile.

“Perhaps.” Stephen tilted his head as he looked the other man over.

Absolutely he was interested. But it had nothing to do with the man’s money and everything to do with the way the man’s blood made his own sing.

“Oh, don’t tease. That’s not very nice. And you haven’t even introduced yourself.” The mogul turned in his spot to face Stephen properly on the rotating stool. “I’m sure someone would have something to say about your manners in that department.”

“Do you often go to clubs to get to know people?”

“Of course. Intimately, even,” Stark responded, his sly smile changing a little then. There was no mistaking the way the man sized him up, or how much Stephen enjoyed the way the man looked through long lashes at him before taking a sip of his drink.

“Do you need my name for such…  _ intimate _ knowledge?” the embraced inquired as he looked at his glass for a moment, wondering if it might be best to not drink the blood cocktail if this was going where Stark was implying it should go.

“Depending on what you have in mind, most people prefer to hear their own name.”

“Well, I suppose perhaps you could convince me,” Stephen mused quietly. Really he wasn’t altogether certain how to introduce himself. 

Habit said to clarify who he was - his full name and title - but someone with Tony’s resources might know he was technically ‘missing.’ The last thing he needed was someone he used to know finding him, demanding answers or trying to bring him back to his old life - a life he couldn’t have anymore.

“And what might I have to do to convince you?” Stark inquired, tilting his head and looking thoroughly entertained.

“You have a room full of people, full of opportunity… why me?” he inquired lowly, sipping at his drink.

They had time. 

The night was young, and he needed to know. He hadn’t used any of his powers on Stark, not knowingly, at least. He had to take into account the possibility that there was something else the man wanted from him.

He didn’t like the taste of paranoia his mind was feeding him, but it was better to be safe. Stark was well known for a lot of things - his genius was one of them. It was worth keeping those things in mind.

“I don’t know what you mean. Why not you?” Stark inquired. “No ring… are you in a relationship? Did I misread things?”

“Nothing like that,” Stephen responded, chuckling softly. “How do I know you’re not using me for my VIP access?”

“Hmm, that’s a good question. Maybe you’ll never know,” the engineer smirked in response, sipping further at his drink. “Maybe I just want in your pants. I’m a simple man, often enough. I see something I want, and I take it.”

Stephen raised an eyebrow at that. “You take it, do you?”

“If that’s what turns you on, mystery man,” Stark chuckled softly, “I could. I could take it in a couple of different ways even.”

It did. Beyond the way the mogul’s blood called to him, he was beautiful and Stephen had always had a certain fascination with intelligent men. He needed to make sure he handled this carefully, however.

As he finished his drink, he looked to the man to see dark honey eyes watching him carefully in return. It would be a simple matter to seduce him - he had powers that made it much more simple. He could keep Stark focused solely on him, potentially negating the risks involved with going after a man who could be hazardous to his existence.

It was only as he focused his intentions that he felt the slight push back - the feel of Stark’s will pushing back for a moment before it broke like a wave on the rocks, and the man shifted in his seat, slinking closer. His drink was set aside as it was finished, his tanned hands moving to Stephen’s knees as he leaned in.

“So, what do you say? Can I entice you?” The man had no idea how much.

They were in the back rooms without much ceremony. 

Stephen’s hand moved to catch the censor outside his private room for the evening without much grace as his other arm remained wrapped tightly around Stark’s waist, his back pressed against the door even as it clicked and unlocked. His gloved hand caught the doorknob and it slid open, leaving Stark’s mouth to pull away from where it had been busying itself on his throat.

Being the center of Stark’s attention was a different beast from so many others. Even as the door closed and clicked as the lock kicked in the brunette was on him, pinning him back into the low seat just inside the door. Stephen barely managed to catch himself to sit before a knee was on either side of his waist.

“This’s convenient,” Stark murmured lowly, his voice already rough, his hands working at unbuttoning Stephen’s top. The embraced only grumbled in response, running a thumb along the man’s jaw, enjoying the coarse feel of the other’s beard under his thumb and then on his throat as the man dove back in eagerly.

Apparently he liked Stephen’s neck. He’d never had an issue with having his neck doted on or marked, and Stark seemed eager to do just that. It was the bite that surprised Stephen. Not the bite of an embraced, but very human teeth biting him hard enough to leave a mark, dragging a deep groan from him as his hips bucked up against the man’s clothed ass.

The things he wanted to do to Stark flooded through his mind, but he’d already made himself a promise - he wasn’t going to go that far with anyone he fed on. No one under his influence. They couldn’t consent, and despite Stark invading all of his senses he held back.

Shifting a little, Stephen caught the man’s lips himself, directing him up and running his hands along the other’s sides and hips. It wouldn’t stop him from enjoying their little make-out session… His promise to himself didn’t stop him from enjoying the way the engineer’s erection pressed into his abdomen within his too-tight slacks or the pleasant friction as he ground up against the man’s ass through his own pants.

His kisses moved over Tony’s jaw and throat, and he drank in the deep moans the other gave him even as he saught the erratic heartbeat he could feel beneath the soft flesh of Stark’s throat. Steady hands threaded into Stephen’s hair to encourage him further, and once Stephen found the spot he carefully sunk his fangs in.

The taste exploded across his tongue like nothing he’d ever tasted. 

He could feel it well before he should have - the heady high of it clouding his mind as he drank. Stark’s fingers curled firmly against his scalp as he seemed to encourage the embraced to continue, and Stephen rested his hand carefully on the other side of Stark’s neck to keep track of his pulse, lest he get utterly swept away in it all.

He wanted much more than he should take, and he knew it, but the man’s moans encouraged him. It was a couple of minutes that he worked the man’s neck, it felt like an eternity and it felt like seconds. He carefully cut his own lip on a fang as he withdrew, brushing that small amount of blood over the punctures on Stark’s neck to encourage them to heal, before pressing a few more kisses to that spot.

The taste had very nearly pushed him over the edge, his erection aching in his pants. Based on the damp feeling against his abdomen, Stark had experienced a similar response to the ordeal. He breathed heavily as Stephen pulled back some, and honey eyes watched him in something of a daze. Appropriate, given what he’d been through.

Stephen’s fingers brushed over his cheeks lightly and he offered the man in his lap a small smile. “You doing okay?”

“I… haven’t come in my pants… since I was a teenager,” Stark responded, his breath short but his eyes bright. “These’re expensive, you know…”

“I can imagine,” Stephen chuckled softly in response, and Stark swooped in to steal a kiss.

Stephen indulged in the moment, keeping it chaste for fear of the man noticing the taste of blood on Stephen’s tongue. He cradled the man against him for a few moments before giving him a hand getting to his feet.

Neither of them said very much as they made their way back out. Stephen helped Stark into the car he'd called, and Stark stole a quick kiss before he collapsed across the back seat, much to his driver's dismay. 

They made their way home separately and as Stephen got back he didn't wait long to deal with the erection that refused to ebb.

The memory of his eyes and the taste of his blood on his tongue were the perfect end to his night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! We finally have Tony! I'm sorry for the delay on this one (and on Keeper) - my little brother married a wonderful young lady on Saturday, and it's been a little bit of a hectic mess preparing for that. I have a guest visiting soon, but things should return to their more regularly scheduled programming shortly after that.
> 
> Big thanks to Bravehardt as ever for the beta! 🥰 You're an absolute wonder!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	8. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a warning, there are some descriptions of violence in this chapter. For those who are squeamish about limb loss and such, be advised!

“I seem to remember I couldn’t stay up very late into the morning when I was first embraced,” Stephen spoke quietly in the still room before the man glanced at him from where he was organizing scrolls old enough that they might’ve been the Dead Sea Scrolls for all Stephen knew. “What changed?”

“You became used to the transformation,” Wong answered simply. “It can be different from person to person, or from creature to creature. Your adaptation was fairly average, though there are some who take years.”

“Average is not a word I tend to enjoy being applied to me.”

“That sounds like a problem that’s between you and your ego,” his mentor responded with a slight smirk. Stephen sighed at that.

“When you say creature to creature…”

“You don’t think we’re the only preternatural entities out there, do you? Hardly,” Wong shook his head. “The world is full of many who are like us but different in their own ways. Fae folk, wraiths, changelings and shapeshifters…”

“Werewolves?”

“I did say shapeshifters, didn’t I?”

“But there are those among us who can shapeshift as well,” the younger embraced pointed out and Wong gave a slight nod in response.

“There are. You would find it challenging to tell the difference between say… Rogers and his dear friend. Perhaps you’d like to try and figure out the difference?”

“I’m sure I don’t need any lessons today,” Stephen assured him, “not of that sort. I have somewhere to be.”

“Yes, Miss Maximoff did mention you had a certain fondness for one of her patrons,” Wong shook his head. “Just be careful, Strange. The more time he spends around you, the more he will begin to suspect that something is amiss with you. Remember what I told you about our secrets.”

Stephen sighed at that, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the chair. It had been almost a week since he’d met Stark and they’d kept their little thing exclusively to the privacy of the club, but there was no doubting that a part of him wanted to see more of the man. 

Most nights Stark sat in the same spot, waiting with a drink and a smile. They weren’t in a hurry, they’d talk a little bit before they retired into a room and eventually, Stark’s driver met them outside to load his thoroughly exhausted boss into the back. 

It was the same when he arrived at Cruorem that night. Stephen allowed himself to admire Stark’s suit of the day before stepping up, and Stark didn’t so much as look up before sliding the drink over to the free seat beside him. They were quiet for a few minutes as Stephen made himself comfortable and glanced at the man.

“Did you put something in it?”

“Are you accusing me of something, stranger?” Stark responded flatly, though a small smile tugged at his features.

“A guy has to keep himself safe you know,” Stephen responded, and Stark barked a quiet laugh.

“Of course. Can’t have someone taking advantage of mister self-control.”

Stephen rolled his eyes a little at that and checked his drink regardless before taking a sip. He had no idea what drugs might do to his system, but he wasn’t taking any risks anyway.

For as much time as they spent together at Cruorem, there were many boundaries between them. Stephen hadn’t even given Stark a name to call him by, and out of respect for putting Stark in that position, he couldn’t bring himself to call the man by his first name, either. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know - everyone knew who Tony Stark was - but there were certain enforced boundaries they were maintaining.

So it surprised him when the man collapsed against him later that night, his nose buried against Stephen’s neck and he heaved a satiated sigh before speaking. “Wanna go out with me sometime?”

“Excuse me?” Stephen blinked through his own vague delirium to glance down at the man’s back where Stephen had laced his hands together carefully to support him. “Isn’t that what we do every night?”

“I mean like a date. You know, dinner or something.” His lips brushed tantalizingly against Stephen’s neck as he spoke, his mustache prickling at his skin in a delightful way that made his skin crawl in anticipation.

He didn’t know how to respond to that. For one thing, he didn’t eat. For another, Stark didn’t even have a name to put to him. As much as Stephen utterly craved Stark, the words left him in a bind. He didn’t want to say something that would end what he thought was something mostly playful and enjoyable for them both, not something with any ties or obligations. It was supposed to be simple.

Part of him wanted it to be more complicated.

“Listen, I just want an excuse to bring you home sober so we can stop doing this thing where you ruin my pants,” Stark spoke up after what must have been a moment too long of silence. “We can skip the dinner part if you’d rather just get to that.”

“Is this a booty call, Stark?”

“Maybe. Would you be terribly opposed if it was?”

“I suppose I’d have to think about it,” Stephen responded quietly, bowing his head to brush his lips against the curve of the man’s neck and shoulder.

“Not much for commitment, huh?” Stark sighed softly, starting to sit up and looking at him with a wry smile. “Why do I get the feeling you’re just… not going to be here tomorrow now that I’ve asked that?”

“Because you’re used to disappointment and you don’t trust me?” Stephen offered, watching slightly bleary amber eyes gaze at him carefully.

“Of the two of us, which one is concealing his name? Not sure we have a mutually trusting thing going on here. I’d like it to be, though. Thus, you know, inviting you to my home. Or dinner, at least.”

Stephen leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath. Stark had a point there and Stephen found himself feeling a bit awry about it as he leaned back in his spot, Wong’s warning warring with his own desire to remedy the situation.

“My name is Stephen,” he finally responded quietly and Stark’s radiant smile in return was worth it. “I can’t do dinner, I have a thing about eating in front of other people, but… I’ll be here tomorrow night, I promise. We can talk about visiting somewhere more private then if you decide you still want to after having some good sober thoughts on the matter.”

“I’ll get us a booth then, so we can talk tomorrow,” Stark responded brightly, despite his clearly disoriented state.

“You’re really excited about this,” Stephen pointed out with a little smile. It was impossible not to echo the delight the man in his lap was shining at him.

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we? In the meantime, your driver is probably waiting for you by now…”

“Are you trying to get rid of me? He can wait a little longer.”

“Hardly. I just don’t want him to think I’ve kidnapped you or something,” Stephen chuckled softly, pulling Stark in against his chest and resting his head in mussed-up brown locks.

_ A little longer wouldn’t hurt. _

* * *

There were two dogs in the Sanctum when he arrived home.

A rather dirty looking blonde mutt sat politely by the door, looking desperately in need of a wash and brushing, and beside it a considerably larger creature with thick black fur and strangely placed ears. On second thought, calling the second one a ‘dog’ might’ve been understating it.

“Strange! It’s good to see you again,” the dog spoke up, leaving Stephen to glance back at it in surprise. He felt uneasy about taking his eyes off of the larger creature, but there was something familiar about the mutt’s voice.

“... have we met?”

“Oh yes, we’ve met.”

It took a moment - a much longer moment than Stephen would admit - before he tilted his head. “Steve Rogers…?”

“Good, you remember,” he gave a nod, standing as his body shifted and transformed easily enough into a more familiar form. “Wong mentioned you were asking about others like us and said you’d be interested in a lesson about the difference between my disciplines and an actual werewolf?”

His eyes shot back to the werewolf in the room, who gave a slight shrug before offering a claw that was large enough to encompass Stephen’s hand and part of his forearm. Stephen hesitated at that before Steve spoke up.

“He’s a little sensitive about his hands.”

“Ah. Understood,” the werewolf gave a curt nod. “I’m James. James Barnes. Bucky is fine, though.”

“Stephen Strange,” he introduced himself, bowing just slightly in respect. “Thank you for taking the time to come here for this. I admit I had rather foolishly assumed that we were… somehow the only…”

“I thought that for a long while myself,” Bucky responded, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it too much. It can be a lot to process to try and figure your new life out before even considering what other things there are in the world. The fact that you even thought to ask is a good sign.”

“May I ask about your… new life?”

“You can call it a condition. It’s a condition in its own way,” Bucky gave a shrug before gesturing towards the seating area. “It’s a bit of a story, but we’ve got a little time until sunrise so…”

For a moment he wasn’t certain if Bucky would fit on the seat. He did. He also wasn’t sure how Wong would feel about dog hair on the couch and wondered if that was racist - or species-ist? 

That was a problem for later, though.

Steve took a seat beside Bucky and Stephen sat across from the duo, tilting his head slightly in curiosity.

“Well, where do I start?” Bucky chuckled to himself, though it sounded mildly horrifying if Stephen was being honest with himself. Like a strange, rumbling growl that should have come across as a threat. “Stevie and I go way back. Before the war even, when Stevie here was just a scrawny kid.”

“... just so we’re clear, which war are we talking about?” Time meant so little to embraced it seemed worthwhile to at least check.

“World War II,” Steve clarified easily enough. “When Bucky left for the war… he was human. When I joined the war… I wasn’t.”

“They wouldn’t let him in before. Asthma, colourblind, scrawny as heck. There was no way… we didn’t meet up again until almost a decade ago. But I’m sure you’re not here for our little love story,” Bucky’s teeth bared in something that might’ve been a snarl or a grin, a chuff of laughter being the only thing that made it clear the werewolf wasn’t feeling particularly aggressive.

“Before Stevie even joined the war things went… pretty bad real fast. As you might expect from war. Lost my arm in an explosion, took out a chunk of my neck, too,” Bucky sighed. “I didn’t really feel it, which was odd to me. Rather, I didn’t feel it immediately…”

“Shock,” Stephen nodded in understanding, and Bucky’s large head nodded in agreement.

“It didn’t last long. Not when I realized I couldn’t seem to stand properly. Not when I felt like I was going to vomit any minute and I didn’t know why. When I noticed the missing arm… well…”

“Yeah, it likes to rush in on you.”

“Something like that. I didn’t get up. I dragged myself back to the line of the forest, dragged myself against a tree and figured that I’d probably die there. I lost a lot of blood, people were scattering everywhere around me… I remember a kid around my age taking one look at me and… he just ran. I think he thought I was dead, or as good as. I didn’t blame him. I remember hoping he got away, that at least someone made it. It was sunset already, plenty of shadows for him to hide in… maybe he’d get somewhere.

“I didn’t hear them so much as feel the hot breaths. I thought they were wolves,” Bucky laughed a bit, shaking his head. “I figured I was a meal… didn’t want to be torn apart so I pulled out my pistol, figured I’d put myself out of my misery. One of them pinned my hand and three of them sat around me. I think there were others behind them, but you know. They asked if I wanted to keep going, if I still wanted to fight to put the Nazis back in their place. I thought I was fucking hallucinating.”

“They… asked?” Stephen’s eyes narrowed in surprise as he focused on the other man.

“Of course. It’s rare that my kind comes to exist without permission - not unheard of, but rare. Consent is important to us. But I did want to fight. 

“The process was painful as hell. Have you ever regrown a limb? Hurts like nothing I have words for and keep in mind I had a good few hours of sitting around there waiting for death where I felt all the pain of those exposed nerve endings. My first change was, predictably, a full moon… but I could change fairly at will after that as long as I kept my temper in check.”

“Wait, so you’re not stuck like this, or made to change under a full moon or anything like that?”

“Hardly, nothing like that. The only relevance of a full moon is it’s relation to the first change. You stay in this form for about a week before everything adapts. Takes a little time to learn to change back and it’s… also pretty painful. You have to get through the feeling of every bone in your body breaking and reforming each time. The Howling Commandos and I stayed on through the war… never ran into Stevie, but we did our part. Then we disappeared.”

Stephen took a deep breath as he thought over that information, frowning slightly to himself as he digested that information, turning it over and over in his head. “... disappeared… how?”

Steve seemed to approve of the question judging by the little smile on his face, and Bucky gave another of those chuffing noises as he nodded. 

“Werewolves and other werecreatures tend to have four forms. We’re shapeshifters in our own rights that way. While Steve can only take up the one alternative form, our shifting has phases from human to this. This is the most extreme phase of our shifting - the most beastly we get. Very strong, very powerful, but also the most likely to fall into animalistic habits. One stage further and we become wolves, unable to speak in human tongues, simplified in a lot of our abilities but we can also disappear easily. It’s also the most painful transformation to make as it requires the largest amount of change to our bodies. There is also a stage between this and human-”

“It’s the cutest form,” Steve piped up with a shit-eating grin and Bucky growled at him in a warning. Steve seemed unconcerned.

“It’s an alarm mode, making it easier for packs to communicate without having to make a full transformation from human to this or to a feral state. Tomorrow my pack is having a meeting, if you would like to join us to learn more we do have something of an alliance with many of the covens of New York.”

“Ah, tomorrow I’ll be busy meeting with someone. But that is an offer I’d like to take you up on some time, if it would be available?”

“I’m sure we can make some arrangements.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to [Bravehardt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bravehardt/pseuds/Bravehardt) for always helping to keep me on track with betaing! I definitely need it, and without your help I'd be a mess. 🥰
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for reading! This chapter ended up worming itself into place despite not being in the outline. The information was all supposed to be in here, but it became its own chapter.
> 
> Next chapter: "Power"


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